


I'll Keep On Rising Up

by QueerCanary (queercanary)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercanary/pseuds/QueerCanary
Summary: If they can't kill Savage, Rip thought, slowing him down is a good idea. And Sara's idea of attacking his fortune is fairly brilliant. However, the workers at the bank, which end up being Savage's goons, attack the pair. Sara is capable and deadly.(Mature for fairly graphic fight scene and heavy emotion)(1x3 rewrite basically)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	I'll Keep On Rising Up

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the implications of the blood lust and how it might be experienced, because there is always a notable shift in Sara and this episode the non-verbal acting was so beautiful and heartbreaking. Also, I hunger for Rip and Sara to have an actual conversation about this, not just Rip poking harshly at her while they are dancing during an under-cover mission. Its a huge topic and the show is so lackluster sometimes (in fully exploring the emotional ideas).  
> Also, I'm trying to practice writing fight scenes so I would appreciate your feedback in the comments on what you liked and what I can improve on! (I don't think I've ever written a fight scene before)

Rip was so cocky. It annoyed the hell out of Sara. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t arming for war to save his ass if something went south at Brumberg Bank. And it was almost guaranteed to go south. She knew Rip was just cocky enough to walk into a death trap by himself with no weapons. His no-knives policy hadn’t flown with her.

And, based on the room full of thugs with weapons pointed at their heads, he was about to be glad she never listened to him.

But to be fair, he never listened to her either. He refused to believe her, the highly trained ex-assassin, that the bank and its personal were more than they seemed until a gun was pointed at his head.

She had to exercise willpower not to roll her eyes at him. He stood up, determined to keep up the charade.

“Listen, if this is how you treat customers, we might have to take our business elsewhere.”

In the few seconds Rip had taken to attempt to threaten them, Sara had taken a few measured steps, dropping the knife from her sleeve into her hand before launching it at the blonde desk woman, who collapsed dead.

No hesitation.

Rip rounded on her. “I thought I specifically said no weapons!” He yelled.

Her turn to be cocky, she thought while patting him on the shoulder. You can thank me later.”

She unsheathed the knife from her other sleeve, launching into battle, heart pounding.

 _Kill_. She couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to at that point. _Kill._ The blood lust was surging through her body and she desperately needed to sate that gruesome hunger. _Kill._ One death wasn’t enough. _Kill more._

The next goon threw a punch, which Sara easily blocked before sinking her knife up to the hilt in his throat. _Kill._ She tossed aside the body with a quick surge of satisfaction before launching into a rib-crushing kick. _Kill._ The man collapsed to the ground with a grunt. _Kill again._

Sara pulled her skirt up, unsheathing a knife strapped to her thigh. _Kill them all._

“How many knives do you have?” Rip breathed in alarm. Sara tossed him a quick grin before advancing on the swordsman. _Spill his blood._

“Seems like you brought a knife to a sword fight.” The man swung too wide and high, leaving him open to the solid kick she placed on his chest, throwing him off balance. _Kill._ She closed the range, ducking a decapitating swing of the blade. _Kill._ She got behind the man, forcing him to turn around, face right into her fists. _Kill._ His own duck of her punch made him spin into a vicious slash, building momentum which Sara used to flip him to the ground, wrenching the sword from her grasp. _Kill._

“Sara?” Rip’s voice echoed from far away, like a shout underwater. _Blood._

Her heart pounded in her chest violently, adrenaline-doped blood racing through her veins. _Kill._ On instinct, she wheeled around to the muscle pushing himself back to his feet. _Kill._ The blade of the sword hitched only briefly as it sliced satisfyingly through the man’s throat. _Kill._

“Sara!” _More._

Sara maintained the momentum built during that spin, whirling into a savage downward cut. _Kill._

“Sara!” _Please, more._

Her heartbeat was clamoring in her chest, pounding in her head. _Kill._

“Sara!” Rip’s voice felt a million miles away, but getting closer as the sentence continued, like the horn of a train. “Sara, I couldn’t get anything from the computer, we need him alive!”

Rip’s words echoed as Sara felt every muscle in her body clench at the word _alive_ , the blade of the sword kissing the soft skin of the man’s neck. The man had terror in his eyes, his chest heaving in panicked breaths. The pounding receded from her head. Sara wasn’t even breathing hard.

She paused, feeling her own face slacken from a warrior’s determined grimace in realization. Disgust washed over her, replacing the fury of the blood lust. She stood slowly, painfully aware of Rip’s terrified gaze lingering on her.

Sara looked up from the terrorized, but living, man on the floor at her feet. She swept a quick gaze around the room, at the bodies scattered on the floor. The blood splotching tile and carpet. Her eyes fell as the fear of realization crept over her like a chill.

The receding hunger of the blood lust left her feeling empty.

҉

“What the hell happened back there!” Rip growled at Sara’s back as she paced determinedly ahead of him through the Waverider’s corridor.

“You know I’m a killer.” Sara choked out, her voice heavy with sadness. “That’s why you put me on the team.”

“That wasn’t just a killer at work Sara, what I saw was an animal.”

Sara rounded on Rip. “You are the last person on this ship to judge anyone.”

Sara’s face confirmed what her voice hinted: she looked on the verge of tears, her fury poorly masking desperation and self-hate.

“This is not judgement Sara, its concern.”

Sara stopped in her tracks, turning to face Rip. “I thought you knew how I was resurrected. And… And what it did to me.”

“I know you were restored by something called the Lazarus Pit.”

“Well, apparently there’s a downside to being brought back to life. There’s a price I have to pay, an exchange. My life for someone else’s. My friend Thea calls it a blood lust. And I think that’s being too generous. And so is calling me an animal. I’m a monster.” Sara turned and stalked away.

“Wait, Sara!” Rip called, jogging to catch up. “You are not… a monster.”

“I’m cursed, Rip. You know what I felt when I sunk that knife into that man’s throat? Relief. Pleasure. You know what not killing, what stopping at that man’s neck, felt like? Disappointment. Disappointment that I didn’t get to end someone’s life. If that doesn’t make me a monster, I don’t what would.”

Sara sunk gloomily on the steps to the parlor. Rip paused before settling down a few feet away, giving the upset woman the personal space the clearly desired. Rip refused to break eye contact with Sara. Sara refused to meet him.

“Your friend Thea… she knows about this ‘blood lust?’” Sara nodded. “Then maybe she knows of some cure, some way to…”

“Fix me?” Sara responded bitterly. Rip nodded, looking away.

“There is no cure. I was dead, and now I’m not. Every breath I take stacks up, a debt. The only way to pay to spill someone else’s blood. Or I die.”

“Wait, you _die?”_ Rip exclaimed.

“Yes. The effects of the Lazarus Pit reverse, my wounds reappear, and I die. Again. Like I have to buy every heartbeat, every breath, with blood.” A choked sob tried to escape her throat, but she stifled it painfully. “My body doesn’t want to die. The blood lust pushes me to do whatever it takes to prevent that. You saw it tonight. You put a weapon in my hand and a victim in front of me and I…I lose control. It’s like I take a backseat to my own body. I have no control.”

A tear escaped Sara’s eye and she wiped it away angrily, not meeting Rip’s gaze. She felt pinned beneath it, like a dying butterfly about to be put on display.

“It’s so scary, Rip. If you think you were terrified, you have no idea what it’s like to wake up and find yourself in a pile of bodies that you created.” She sighed, her voice cracking and throat aching with unshed tears. “I ran away from the League because I was tired of killing. I wanted to be a better person, something more than just a tool. And now I’m worse than a tool: I’m a monster. A monster you let out of her cage whenever you need something done.”

Rip fought the urge to reach out and place a hand of comfort on her arm. He knew Sara hated appearing so vulnerable, and such a physical reminder that Rip was watching her struggle would push her further away.

“You’re only a monster if you let yourself become one.” Rip whispered. Sara’s gaze lifted from the floor for the first time since she had sat down. “You have to fight yourself for control, to become the person you so desperately want to be.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Sara responded, accusatory.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Rip responded. This time, he was the one who broke contact with the woman’s intense blue eyes. “But you’re right. I picked you because you are a killer. I selected you because you were trained by the best killers on this entire planet, perhaps in the entirety of history. I selected you because you had no allegiances—you were a nomad released from the League. But it never occurred to me why… why you were running.”

“I’m terrified of staying in one place too long.” Sara admitted quietly. “I’m terrified what would happen… if I would hurt my father, or Laurel, or Oliver, or Felicity, or Diggle. The team that welcomed me into their home and helped me finally leave the league behind. If I stayed in one place too long, maybe they’d find me. Laurel isn’t the kind of woman to give up, especially when it’s her sister and she feels guilty. She wouldn’t stop looking. But I… I couldn’t stop killing.”

“I don’t think you would do that, Sara. Regardless of how you see yourself, I know you wouldn’t ever hurt anyone you cared about. I trust you.”

“That’s because you don’t know what it feels like in my head, in my body. How… good it feels. How hungry the sight of blood makes me.”

“Yes, I don’t know, and I suspect I never can come close to understanding. But what I do know is that you stopped. When I told you I needed him alive, you stopped. Right at his throat—all you had to do to kill him would have been to flinch. But you didn’t. Even though every part of you was probably screaming to finish the job, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t kill one man, out of eight, and you had to scream my name at the top of your lungs. You had to beg me not to kill him.” Sara gulped, the lump in her throat painful.

“Everyone has to start somewhere, Sara. You made progress; you were able to wrest control over yourself when you were so close to blood you could practically taste it. You stood at the precipice and stepped away. That takes so much more control than you realize.” This time, Rip did place a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look him in they eye. “You can sit around and criticize yourself for not being perfect all the time, or you can take what happened and use it to empower yourself, to prove to yourself that, step by step, you can do better. To push yourself to do better next time.” Rip patted Sara’s shoulder and stood. He walked to the door of the bridge, but a small voice made him stop and turn for a moment.

“Thank you, Rip.”


End file.
